


It All Goes Around

by tanyart



Category: Imperial Radch Series - Ann Leckie
Genre: Gen, Identity Issues, Post-Ancillary Sword
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 10:04:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2808482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanyart/pseuds/tanyart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She will never write back home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It All Goes Around

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SapphoIsBurning](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphoIsBurning/gifts).



The messages eventually came in droves.  It was, of course, expected since Tisarwat had left behind friends and family.  The initial anxiety had been dormant in her mind, pushed aside during the entirety of Athoek, only to become an increasing fear as she recovered from her injuries.  The messages from Tisarwat’s parents were the worst of all, followed by an apparent close friend—Suchart, always leaving the shortest of mundane lines—and then came her older sisters and a scattering of distant relatives that had somehow been dear to her.

She left the missives unread and unanswered, letting Ship keep the data away from her eyes, though she had never given the explicit order to do so.  It was a tiny comfort to distance herself from the child long dead, and it was a curious feeling, knowing that Ship acted on her behalf. She had not expected it. 

She had not expected anyone to do anything for her.

On some days she would forget the messages even existed, and those days were always the easier ones.  As far as she was concerned, the less she was reminded of Tisarwat, the better—even if she still answered to the name anyway.

 

* * *

 

 Tisarwat must have been in one of her better moods at dinner, or perhaps it was the Fleet Captain whose mood was less impassive than usual.  Whatever it was, the decade room held a more companionable silence than it ever had between them, even when being seated next to each other despite their staggered schedules. 

The silence was a comfort, only broken by the other soldiers chatting amongst themselves.  Tisarwat thought she could get by with the barest of pleasantries, but halfway through the meal Fleet Captain Breq turned to her, setting her fork down, and inhale once before opening her mouth.

“I used to think your lilac eyes ridiculous,” said Breq, sounding as if she was admitting a deep dark secret, and had been hanging on to the information for some time. “But now I find them quite striking.”

Tisarwat stared, unable to speak for several moments.  Her purple eyes had been the product of the old Tisarwat, young and frivolous, with little connection to the person she was now.  The compliment ought to have felt empty and meaningless but, truthfully, she was mostly surprised Breq took notice of anything that wasn’t… that didn’t have to do with—

As always, the threat of looming misery was near, but Kalr Thirteen glanced up from her meal, interrupting Tisarwat’s barely formed thoughts.

“Quite striking and  _eye_ -catching, wouldn’t you say, Fleet Captain?” Kalr Thirteen said, the sentence quite an impressive feat as it combined two languages, even linking _striking_ and _catching_ together in the process.  The Kalrs nearby groaned while a few Bos pressed their lips together.

Breq took a sip of tea and gravely replied, “Quite so.  Your proficiency with Aariban word play has grown exceedingly well.”

“Thank you, Fleet Captain,” Kalr Thirteen said, and it must have been some sort of inside joke between the Kalrs, but Tisarwat snorted into her cup.

“I appreciate your honesty, Fleet Captain,” she said, glancing at Breq, “In hind _sight_ -”

“Oh, no,” Breq said, so flatly Tisarwat knew she had been caught off guard.  That Ancillary voice was a tell in and of itself.  “Not you, too.”

Tisarwat felt her mouth twitch at Breq’s blank expression.  The unexpected pleasure of surprising the Fleet Captain was like releasing a breath she did not know she was holding.  It came out in a soft laugh, simple and uncomplicated.

 Dinner, as it turned out, was a little more rambunctious than usual, but if Fleet Captain Breq was bothered by the sudden increase of puns, she gave no indication of it other than the well-mimicked, obligatory groan of despair.

 

* * *

 

Tisarwat was dead and she was no longer Anaander Mianaai, but Anaander Mianaai must have known the real Tisarwat in her seemingly infinite knowledge, simply by piecing together correspondence from Tisarwat’s family and friends and whatever else Tisarwat had done within the presence of a station or ship. 

After all, there were things  _she,_  the not-quite-Tisarwat, had to do as Anaander Mianaai to mimic the former Tisarwat, the dead one.  She could remember who Tisarwat had been—someone happy and cheery, if not particularly aspiring—and it was strange.  It made her think in circles during the quiet hours of off-duty, kept her from true sleep at times when the thoughts refused to leave her mind.

And so it was in this somewhat sleep-deprived mindset that Lieutenant Seivarden discovered Tisarwat in the hallway of the ship.

“Tisarwat,” Seivarden greeted.  “May I have a moment of your time?”

Tisarwat managed not to stare in mute surprise.  She was, after all, no longer a baby lieutenant—not after Athoek, not after saving the Fleet Captain’s life—so it made sense the Senior Lieutenant would approach her with a distinct air friendly informality.

“Yes?” she replied, matching Seivarden’s casual tone, and was bewilderedly confronted with a request for the latest and most tolerable entertainment programs.

“You see,” Seivarden explained, a little huffily, “I still have some minor difficulties with current slang and phrases.  Ship has suggested watching a few programs during my spare time to have me acclimated.  I wanted to ask you.”

Seivarden did not mention why she had wanted to ask Tisarwat specifically, that perhaps Tisarwat would be the easiest and most familiar person to speak to.  Another person who would still understand the dialect of a thousand years before, and would not shy away from its aristocratic speech.

“Oh,” said Tisarwat, less elegant than she would have liked to have answered.

It could be said that Anaander Mianaai had not deeply known the Tisarwat girl, not in the true sense of knowing her childish secrets or most inner thoughts, but for some inexplicable reason Tisarwat saw the titles of entertainment programs flash readily in her mind, as easy as if they were part of her own memories.

She doubted they were Anaander Mianaai’s, but she could not quite believe they were fully Tisarwat’s either.

“Do you enjoy comedies?” she asked, just as the hazy memory of Bo Nine setting up cheery light-hearted programs for her came unbidden in her mind.  She could not remember much, only the melancholy dullness that had surrounded her after severing her connection with Anaander Mianaai.  It seemed like a lifetime ago. 

“The comedies from a thousand years ago, yes,” Seivarden said wryly.  “Now when I try to watch them I only understand half the jokes.”

“In that case,” Tisarwat said, surprised by her own intense curiosity, “I can sit down and watch them with you.  I don’t mind explaining humor.”

“So it has come to this,” Seivarden sighed, elegant words and poise giving way to exaggerated melodrama, but she agreed with a will and an eagerness that showed in her smile.

 

* * *

 

 She could not recall when she started to hum the Fleet Captain’s songs.  The weeks had passed steadily, with time to reflect or forget, and to make better friends with Seivardan and the rest of the crew.  She finally noticed the tune in her throat, softly warbling as she sat in Medic’s office.

The medic’s scan was quick, done with the sense and ease of routine.  One a week, at first, until it had become once every two weeks.

“And how have you been doing, Tisarwat?” Medic asked aloud, because all the medical scanners in the universe could not pick up all the wrong there could be in a person. 

Tisarwat had stopped humming, but though she could not quite smile about it yet, she found that she could relax her shoulders and nod.

“Better.  And maybe I that I do deserve it, after all.”

 

* * *

 

Tisarwat sat and read the messages anew.  It took a certain kind of bravery, the mustering of courage she did not think she had. 

It might be deceit, to write back to Tisarwat’s family and friends with words that may seem too solemn and too polite to be from the cheery, lilac-eyed girl.  Maybe Tisarwat had grown or matured, they would think, but in the wrong ways that should have never happened.

Maybe they would learn the new Tisarwat had a fondness for clever wordplay, but that could be attested to a new set of friends and comrades, far away from home.  She could still recall that entertainment program to Suchart, now that she had seen and laughed over it with Seivarden a thousand times.  Maybe she would drift away from her friends back home, growing up as people often do, and that would be as normal and expected as anything else in life.

Tisarwat will never write back home, but maybe she would never need to.


End file.
